


Picnic

by ezekiels



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Peter is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:12:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ezekiels/pseuds/ezekiels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after defeating the nogitsune, Scott has a date with Lydia but things get a little out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picnic

**Author's Note:**

> written for singallyouwant. sorry if there are any mistakes. i'm terrible at reading over my own work.

Scott has always been nervous about first dates but a first date with Lydia Martin was a wholly different barrel with withering slivering worms. He was relieved when Deaton mentioned a small little grove out in the woods. It was backed up against a small pool and had various beautiful flowers surrounding it.

Deaton has found it by accident while taking his morning run with his sister Marin Morrell. One thing, he said, had led to another. She had pushed him playfully. He had pushed back. She had pushed harder and suddenly he had gone toppling off the path, through the thick brush, and landed not too elegantly in the small pool.

It sounded just romantic enough a place to distract Lydia from the fact that Scott hadn't stolen the crown jewels for her, which he was certain Jackson had done at some point. Scott was certain it was the sort of thing Lydia Martin, in all her brilliance, would inspire people to do.

A picnic then, he decided and was pleased by Lydia's amused but delight smile when he mentioned it. "This Saturday then, big boy," she teased. "Pick me up at 10."

Scott grins so much that day that Coach gives him a wide berth. "Smiling," Coach always says, "is one thing but then there is grinning and I for one don't want to get Teenager of the Corn'd."

Instead of getting Teenager of the Corn'd, Coach finds himself face to face with a pride of werelions. Being Coach, he doesn't notice. He just assumes they're a group of violent delinquents. Scott, on the other hand, knows what they are and knows they aren't going to leave unless they're persuaded.

It's the first time something like this has happened in Beacon Hills in months and Scott tries to keep everyone out of it. After what happened with the nogitsune, they all deserve a break from saving the town and each other from grizzly supernatural doom. That said, however, Scott can't just turn a blind eye to the chaos they cause, especially after they attack Danny in the alley beside the Jungle.

So, Scott decides to confront them and ends up having to chase them out of town. By the time he's done, Scott is bloody, tired, and deeply regretting doing this on his own. He takes one glance down at himself and decides going home in his bloody state isn't the best idea.

He makes it to the animal clinic after a lot of blundering and cursing. He's not hurt, just very bloody and very much frustrated with the clinic's location just off the middle of town.

Deaton is in but it's Morrell who answers the door.

"Look what the cat dragged in," she comments.

Scott winces. "Don't...mention cats."

She raises an eyebrow but doesn't pry. She gestures him in and he goes straight to the small cubby hole that serves as his locker. Inside, there are fresh clothes. Waving to Deaton, he ducks into the staff bathroom.

He emerges some time later and blinks in surprise at the sunlight coming through the windows. He glances at Morrell, who is leafing through some French papers at the front desk. "It's morning?" he asks, feeling completely baffled by the idea.

Morrell checks her watch. "Six in the morning and counting."

Scott groans.

She smiles at him. "Thank god for Saturday, am I right?"

Scott blinks at her, startled and not completely sure he's heard right. He digs his phone out and checks the date himself. With a look of deep foreboding, he looks up at Morrell. "I'm dead."

"That's a little dramatic," Deaton comments from the door. He looks tired but happy. In his arms is a small ginger tabby, too small to be parted from their mother but through some sad circumstance had. "You look considerably less dead than the last time I saw you."

Scott collapsed into the nearest chair. "I was supposed to find my mum's old picnic basket last night and make picnic-y things," he said, waving his hands about in exasperation. He sank into the chair in further defeat. "I'm never going to be able to get it ready now." At least, he adds silently to himself, if he’s going to have to walk home, find the picnic basket, make the food, shower, and be ready by 10 when he’s supposed to pick Lydia up. Scott’s good, but he’s not that good.

Deaton smiles at him. “Marin, do you mind keeping an eye on the place this morning?”

Morrell looks as if she’s about to say she does mind but bites her tongue and looks at Scott. She sighs and hefts her feet up onto the front desk. “Fine,” she mutters.

Deaton taps her heeled boots pointedly.

Scowling, Morrell tucks her legs back under the table. She even pokes her tongue out at him like a child.

Scott smiles tiredly through his defeat. He’s glad to see the two of them are getting along a little better. It seems that living together has its up sides.

“Come on, Scott,” Deaton says, gesturing for him to follow. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

Scott follows him and spends most of the ride fiddling nervously with his phone. He's sure Lydia will understand if he cancels but at the same time he can’t help wondering what if she doesnt. What if she thinks he's just making excuses or doesn’t like her that way?

Between one nervous thought and the next, he falls asleep.

He wakes up on the couch of his living room, the clattering sound of cupboards coming from the kitchens. Along with it, he hears conversation. He recognizes two of the voices instantly. He knows his mother Melissa’s voice better than his own and the same, he has to admit, went for Deaton’s. The third voice takes him by surprise.

“Kira?” he asks in disbelief as he drags himself into the kitchen.

His surprise over her being there all but disappears when he notices the spotless picnic basket surrounded by Melissa, Deaton, and Kira all making sandwiches and itemizing fruit into plastic containers. They all smile at him and say good morning, Kira breaking away from them all to come hug him.

She shoves him away with a wrinkled nose. “Argh. You need a shower.” There’s laughter in her voice.

One curious inhale with his werewolf senses confirm she’s right. He runs up stairs to shower and change, thankful for soap and shampoo and all those wonderful scented things that makes oneself clean. He pulls on jeans, a shirt, and a hoody with a tired yawn then hurries back down stairs.

“What are you doing?” he asks when he enters the kitchen again.

“Helping you with your date,” Melissa says, pointing a very sharp knife in his direction. Kira taps her wrist to scold her and Melissa quickly sets the knife down to prevent hurting anyone. Deaton watches it all with a silent smile. “Which, by the way, you hadn’t told me about.”

Scott blinks, certain he told Melissa then realizes he probably forgot to. Werelions are a handful to deal with. “Sorry,” he says ruefully.

“I didn’t know you even liked Lydia that way,” Melissa says.

Kira snorts. “You’re the last to know then, after Scott.” She grins at him. “I dated him for three months and knew more about his feelings than he did.”

“Teenage werewolves,” Deaton comments with a smile. “Blissfully ignorant where it counts.”

Scott doesn’t particularly like being insulted while still half asleep but there’s a fondness in Deaton’s voice that stops him from snapping at him like any other sleep deprived human would. Instead, Scott sighs and makes himself a coffee. It wakes him up a little, but not nearly enough. It doesn’t tingle in his limbs the way Stiles says it does with him but, then, maybe that’s a werewolf thing. Or perhaps that’s just a Stiles thing, like Allison says. Or a post possession thing, Scott can almost hear Isaac add. Isaac still hasn’t forgiven Stiles for trying to literally rip his heart out.

By nine, they finish packing the basket full of everything imaginable Scott and Lydia might want. Scott accepts it gratefully and is relieved it’s not nearly as heavy as he thought it would be. It would sit rather nicely on the little compartment just behind the seat that Derek had helped him install on his motorbike a few weeks previously.

Just before nine thirty, Scott trades the hoody he’s wearing for another one. It’s red and Lydia’s favourite, partly because it makes fun of the fairytale Little Red Riding Hood.

He’s just put the picnic basket on the back of his motorbike when Deaton calls after him. “Just a second, Scott. You’ve forgot something.”

Scott rattles his mind for what he must have forgotten but can’t think of anything. Turning, he sees Deaton rummaging through the trunk of his car. Finding what he’s looking for, Deaton hurries over.

“Can’t have a picnic without a picnic blanket,” Deaton says with a smile. He tucks it carefully inside the picnic basket, careful not to squash anything. “At least, not a comfortable one.”

Scott smiles back at him. “Thanks.”

Deaton pats him on the back. “Just…be careful with it. It’s a little bit of a family heirloom.”

Scott stares at him, taken aback. “Well, if it’s a family heirloom, maybe I should just get a blanket from inside.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Deaton assures him quickly with a laugh. “It’s alright. I trust you to take care of it, Scott.”

Scott doesn’t know what to say to that, which is strange because this isn’t the first time Deaton has said he trusts him. The last time had been almost three months ago and Scott can still remember Deaton bloodied and beaten on the lacrosse field, the thing possessing Stiles slowly inching their way through the mountain ash. Scott remembers being afraid as he took the grimoire from Deaton’s hands, knowing he had to finish the ritual because a grimoire can only be read by druids and those they gifted their books too. Scott's courage saved not only Stiles’ life but Deaton’s, Lydia’s, Kira’s, Allison’s, Isaac’s, and Derek’s –although Peter didn’t make it. He can almost still feel Lydia’s hand in his as he recited the words, both of them standing their ground as Stiles broke through the mountain ash circle.

Scott blinks and shakes his head. Deaton has a hand on his shoulder, a worried look on his face.

“Scott, are you alright?” he asks.

Scott tries to swallow but finds that his throat is dry. He smiles to hide it. “I’m fine,” he says.

Frowning and clearly not convinced, Deaton tightens his grip on Scott’s shoulder. Scott keeps his smile firmly in place but Deaton sees right through him. “It’s over, Scott,” he says gently. “The nogitsune is gone.”

Scott shrugs a shoulder. “I know.” But knowing that doesn’t make any of what happened any easier, he adds to himself.

Deaton pulls Scott into a hug in a surprising act of affection. It’s not the first time and it’s not strange, no matter how surprising it is. Scott hugs him back and is very glad that he’s never going to have to touch Deaton’s grimoire ever again.

“We should hug more often,” Deaton says conversationally.

“The novelty would wear off,” Scott points out.

“True.” Deaton patted him once on the back then stepped away. “Good luck on your date. Tell Lydia to stop using the lighting spell I taught her. She’s very powerful and us druids can sense these things. It’s been driving Marin crazy.”

Scott smiles at that. “I’ll try,” he says doubtfully.

“You two are adorable,” Kira interrupts as she comes down from the house, phone in hand. She snaps a few more pictures then smiles at them both. “Say hello to Lydia for me,” she adds distractedly and kisses Scott on the cheek with an equally distracted air. She leaves smiling, texting someone Scott suspects is Allison, although he can’t be certain.

“Well, I better go,” Scott says, shaking his head with a smile and reaching into his pocket to check the time. Seeing it, his smile disappears. “I really, really better go,” he says, getting onto his bike quickly. “See you!” he shouts not too ceremoniously over his shoulder as he speeds out of the drive.

Lydia smiles at him when he appears. “Cutting it a little close,” she says.

He smiles apologetically as he hands her the other helmet. “Sorry. It’s a long story.”

“I love long stories,” she says, taking the helmet. “As long as Stiles isn’t telling them.” Scott gives her an appraising look and she sighs. “Alright. They’re not that awful but I prefer your long stories. They’re interesting and don’t get confusing in the middle.”

Scott sighs. He has to admit she’s right about that.

Lydia climbs onto the back of the motorbike, being careful of the picnic basket and is about to put her helmet on when Scott hears her heart skip with an impulse. Leaning forward, she kisses him behind the ear. He glances sharply back at her but her smile is already hidden behind her swiftly put on helmet.

“Well?” she teases. “I believe we have a date to get on with.”

He grins like a fool, feeling giddy from head to toe. The weight of remembering that terrible night is already fading. Reving the motorbikes engine, he tears away from the curb, making Lydia cry out and grab him more firmly around the waist.

He laughs aloud and she scolds him with a muttered, “That was uncalled for,” against his neck.

The walk to the grove is pleasant. Scott delivers both Kira and Deaton’s messages and the resulting conversation somehow leads to him holding Lydia’s hand. It’s small and firm, and surprisingly a little sweaty with nerves. He doesn’t mind and listens carefully as Lydia talks about her research into banshees and her worry over having to at one point talk with the dead.

It is only when they reach the grove that Lydia remembers the long story Scott mentioned.

“Well, you remember those werelions that came into town on Tuesday?” he begins and then sets out explaining what had happened while laying out Deaton’s picnic blanket with care. Together they sit down and begin to rummage through the contents of the picnic basket as he continues with the story, which suddenly seems very, very long.

When he gets to the part when he decided to deal with the werelions himself, Lydia cuffs him on the back of the head. “You should have at least called someone,” Lydia says. “I have a car, you know. I could have driven you home.”

“I was covered in blood,” Scott says. “I didn’t want to get blood all over your seats.”

Lydia glares at him. “Don’t give me that. I’d rather be complaining about bloody seats than having you bleeding to death in the middle of the woods.”

Scott ducks his head guiltily because she’s right. He should have called her, or at least called Stiles. At the time, it just hadn’t occurred to Scott. “Sorry.”

Lydia puts two fingers under his chin and raises his head so she can gently kiss his lips. She takes her lips away with a sigh and rests her forehead against his. Despite the tenderness, she’s still glaring at him. “Just don’t be an idiot next time, okay? Honestly, you have how many helpful contacts on your phone? A banshee with a car, a loser with a car, two hunters, several werewolves, a druid vet. Your mother’s a nurse for crying out-”

He stops the rest of her words with his lips, first with a soft suggestion for her to please stop making him feel more foolish than he already does before deepening it. Lydia pulls him close and then down onto the picnic blanket. They lay there kissing for so long that it seems centuries pass, in all the best ways.

Breaking apart for air, Lydia says, “I’m still mad at you.”

Scott smiles. “I guess I shouldn't really be surprised.”

“You really shouldn’t,” Lydia agrees, pulling him in for another kiss.

Eventually, they pull apart again and he continues with his story with her head resting on his shoulder. The coffee from earlier that morning is already fading, his eyes drooping as he fights against his exhaustion. He will not fall asleep beside Lydia on their first date. He will not embarrass himself.

He is a true alpha, he can do this.

“So?” Lydia prompts after a few moments of silence on Scott’s end. “Was Deaton in or did you have to deal with Marin?”

Scott doesn’t reply.

Frowning, Lydia glances over at him. His eyes are closed and his breathing soft. He looks both childlike and stubborn, although perhaps that is just the shape of his jaw, the shape of his mouth. She smiles, propping herself up on his shoulder.

“If you were any other boys, I would be insulted,” she tells him. She admires his face, glad to have a private moment to do so. She smiles at the little details, none of which gives away what Scott really is. “Then again,” she whispers, “you aren’t like any other boys.”

Settling back down beside him, Lydia looks up through the trees. Beside her, Scott dreams of that terrible night when Lydia stepped between him and Stiles.

“Touch him and I’ll kill you,” she growled at him.

Stiles smiled cruelly at her. “Oh, Lydia, believe me when I say it will be the other way around.”

Stiles lunged at her and Scott shoved Lydia out of the way. The weight of Stiles’ body collided with his and he was pinned, the nogitsune within Stiles grinning down at him. “I’ve always wanted to be a werewolf,” Stiles said.

Scott grabbed his wrist before the nogitsune leapt from Stiles’ body into his. A mark of power burned into Stiles’ flesh, saving his life when the sudden absence of the nogitsune should have killed him.

It had been very silent after that. Silent and dark and cold. The nogitsune was there too, screaming without sound within Scott’s body, a similar mark to the one on Stiles' wrist was now burnt into Scott's palm. It burned the nogitsune from within Scott’s own body.

And then they were gone.

“Scott?” Lydia’s panicked voice screamed. “Scott! Please, please, please. Come on, Scott. Come on. Come back to me. Please… Please. Come on. Scott? Scott?” In a fury, she screamed, “Come on!”

In the dream, Scott opened his eyes to see Lydia leaning over him. Beside him, he could sense Stiles and in the distance, on the other side of the much larger circle of mountain ash, the others were watching. Peter, stupid Peter, lay dead near the first broken circle of mountain ash where he had tried to turn nogitsune onto his side for reasons Scott didn’t care to understand.

Lydia took his head in her hands. “Scott? Scott, look at me.”

“Is he okay?” Stiles’ panicked voice said from beside him. “Is going to he okay?”

“Stiles, will you please for the love of god shut up!” Lydia shouted at him.

“No fighting,” Scott murmured.

Lydia had kissed him them, dragging him up from the damn earth of the lacrosse field and into her arms. Her lips seemed to pour life back into him or at the very least woke up his werewolf senses.

“Oh, I could kill you,” Lydia growled when she pulled back.

“Wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?” Scott asked.

Lydia laughed and might have kissed him again if Stiles hadn’t suddenly launched himself at them both, laughing and crying with relief.

Scott blinks himself awake out of his dream, his first reaction embarrassment until he realizes Lydia is curled up in his arms and looking up through the trees at the sky. “Sorry I fell asleep,” he says.

Lydia looks over at him. “You were having a nightmare?” she asks.

Scott smiles and shakes his head. “No. Not really.”

“Oh, really?” Lydia teases him with a mischievous grin. “This ’not really’ nightmare didn’t happen to have me in it, did it?”

Scott tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “Maybe,” he says with an equally mischievous grin.

Lydia sits up and swings a leg over to straddle him. “Tell me,” she says and kisses him teasingly.

He smiles and kisses her back.

Pulling back, she narrows her eyes. “Oh, you’re going to make me work for it, aren’t you?”

“Definitely.”

Lydia smiles down at him. “Challenge accepted,” she says and leans down to kiss him.


End file.
